


Figuring it out

by Mistevieous



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, SO MUCH PINNING, and now here we are, chapters everywhere, then hopefully smooching in later chapters, this was supposed to be a oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-11 10:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17445569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistevieous/pseuds/Mistevieous





	1. Bedtime

“Move over.” Is all Grif says as he wanders into the room, socked feet padding across the floor. 

“What?” Sleepy Simmons asks, lifting his head up with disheveled hair and seeming half awake.

“I said move over. Donut is cleaning my room and Sarge is being a dick walking around the base like a lunatic, I need sleep. Move over.” He explains, prodding a finger at Simmons’ shoulder, his pillow and blanket in his hands.

“You’re not sleeping with me!” Simmons let out loudly, sitting up finally and scowling. 

“Yeah, I am. Scooch over or I’ll scooch you myself.” He replies, already sitting at the edge of the too small of bed and moving Simmons’ pillow to make room for his own. 

“Dude, no way, sleep on the couch!” He protests, but did start to move over a little bit, reluctance on his face. 

“I told you, Sarge is “patrolling” everything and making a fuckton of noise, especially around the sofa.” He huffs, pushing and prodding until he was on the bed enough to start getting cozy. 

“Why my bed? Sleep in Donut’s if he’s not using it, or Sarge’s!” Simmons tries to reason, scowling.

“I’m not touching Donut’s room with a ten foot pole, and I’m not sure Sarge even sleeps or has a bed.” He shrugs, laying down and getting comfortable. 

Simmons lets out a rough huff, lying back down before he looks back at Grif with another scowl. 

“It’s just one night, chill out man.” He grumbles as he settles in, pulling his blanket over himself and nestling into the bed, part of his body hanging off but it’s better than the floor. 

“This is ridiculous, Grif.” Though Simmons doesn’t make an attempt to unwedge him from the bed, just trying to settle down. 

“Just go to sleep.” He breathes out, finally comfortable enough to try sleeping. 

“You could sleep in the warthog like you usually do with your naps, you don’t have to invade my bed.” He continues, despite already fully settled in and ready for sleep anyways. 

“It’s all the way outside and I don’t want to get my armor on.” That’s a good enough excuse. He’s not going to say he just wants to be close to a warm body, Simmons’ body specifically, that’s just...weird. Right?

“Sounds like an excuse- but you are a lazy fuck, so. Whatever, go to sleep.” Simmons officially caves, shaking his head against his pillow. “Just don’t snore too loudly!”

“I’ll snore if I want.” He shrugs, letting his eyes close finally. 

They fall silent and get ready to sleep, with a little more wiggling and shifting awkwardly to get comfortable together. 

For a while, Grif falls into a nice sleep, warm and cozy and peaceful. But he wakes when he feels an unfamiliar pressure, reluctantly and lazily cracking his eyes open to see what the hell’s going on. 

He finds Simmons’ arm tossed over his torso, leg tangled with one of his, nestled close and settled, sleeping away peacefully. He cranes his neck to peer down at the other man, fighting a small smile as he looks at the sleeping face. He’s had this crush for, well, fuck. Ever? Years, easily. He’s enjoying this more than he should…

So he pushes it from his mind and just soaks up the warmth, closes his eyes and forces himself to go back to sleep. 

When he wakes again, not a few hours later, he finds Simmons has moved closer still, pressed flush against him with his head on his shoulder. He can’t recall when his arm slipped under the back of Simmons’ head, but it feels comfortable. Right. And wrong, like a dirty secret he’s keeping forever to himself. 

Grif watches the hair tickling his arm, is too aware that Simmons is wearing just boxers, he in boxers and an undershirt. So much skin on skin contact, he can’t recall when he last had so much skin on his. His senses feel like they’re overwhelmed, but there’s a grounding feeling too, like he’s simultaneously flying on a cloud but held safely to ground by the body so close to his own. 

He’s not aware of when he drifts off to sleep, but he’s out like a light before he knows it. He’s only aware he’s gone out because he wakes up, slow to blink his eyes open again, looking down to Simmons again, who is still practically on top of him. Close enough he can feel every exhale both in puffs of warm air on his chest and the rise and fall of his chest, his own hand pressed firmly to Simmons’ back. Like he wants to keep him close. But it was all in his sleep, probably instinct or something, he doesn’t know, but it’s definitely, totally not intentional. Really.

He feels the other start to shift and wake, his eyes shutting tight and keeping his breathing steady as possible, pretending to still be asleep. 

Simmons sits up, he can feel it, the change of pressure and weight as his body pulls away and takes that soft heat with it. 

He tries carefully to peek and see what the other is doing through his lashes, only getting a blurry outline but it’s enough. He can see Simmons sitting up and facing him, watching him sleep. He can’t see an expression but he can sense a positive gaze focused on him. 

While Grif tries to decide if he should “wake up” now or keep faking sleep, Simmons carefully lies back down. At first, he thinks he’s going to try and get a centimeter of space between them, with how he’s squirming, but before long, that arm is weighing over his stomach again and he feels the bare thigh drape over his, legs tangled again. He hardly fights off the smile, not wanting to give away he’s awake. 

It’s not much, and he knows he probably should say something eventually about this...longing? This crush that’s been eating away at him monthly, weekly, daily- hell, hourly! But he bottles it down and just soaks up the warmth again. Enjoy it while he can. No worries here, nothing weird here. No feelings, nothing. Just two bros settled in to sleep in the only open bed, simple.


	2. Cuddles

“Donut’s in my room now.”

Grif blinks his eyes open, squinting at the silhouette of Simmons next to his bed before rumbling out, “What?”

“Donut’s cleaning my room now. Sarge is, well, being Sarge. Scoot over.” Simmons explains, moving to press a knee into the side of the bed.

It still takes Grif a moment to wake up enough he understands words again, staring sleepily before finally moving over a little bit. He turns to face the wall, putting his back towards Simmons. Not going to mess up and accidentally start cuddling him this time-!

The bed sinks slightly behind him and he feels his pillow dip as another head is added to it, idly wondering why Simmons didn’t bring his own pillow like he had. Maybe he forgot, or didn’t care enough to bother hanging around with Donut’s sporadic late night room invasions. Whatever the reason, he didn’t care enough to ask, still tired and wanting to slip back into sleep while he could. 

Grif wakes sometime later, maybe a couple hours, feeling warm and cozy. He shifts slightly and readies himself to fall back asleep, when he notices something is almost holding him down. At first, he assumes it’s the blanket and tugs on it slightly to loosen where it’s tight, but it’s already limp and just lying across his body. Eyebrows pulling together in confusion, he lifts the blanket and blinks down at an unfamiliar arm around his torso. He lifts his hands one at a time, though he already knows deep in his sleepy mind it doesn’t even look like his own. 

Two hands accounted for, his brain finally catches up and he realizes it’s Simmons’ arm, wrapped tightly around him as much as it could reach. He finally notices his back is warm, a firm chest pressed flush against it. He’s only in his boxers and it feels like Simmons is dressed the same, the feel of warm skin on his suddenly sending goosebumps over his shoulders. 

Fighting a flutter in his stomach, he turns his head slightly to try and peek over at the man sleeping behind him. He can’t quite catch a glimpse, but he can feel hot breath on his neck, sending a shiver down his spine with the goosebumps. 

Okay, he can handle this, no big deal. 

Grif shifts again, letting out a slow breath to steady himself as he tries to think of a plan. He has to move, pretend this never happened- then again. It doesn’t feel terrible, the weight of that arm on him and the sensation of a body pressed against his. It’s kind of wonderful if he admits it, though he mentally pushes that thought away quickly. No, not wonderful. Awkward, it’s weird, it’s uncomfortable, it’s anything but great. 

He starts to worm away before he feels the arm tighten momentarily, going as still as possible, eyes wide. 

A sleepy, muffled noise comes from behind him, leaving a huff of hot air on his skin. He’s pretty sure Simmons is waking up, the way the arm stiffens and the breathing stops being so steady tips him off. 

They lie still for a long moment, neither of them moving an inch for a beat or two. Simmons moves first, carefully, slowly pulling his arm away. He misses it instantly, swallows down the feeling as it crops up. He feels Simmons roll over, back to his, pulling the blanket over himself as he settles in again. Like it never happened. 

That’s...well, that’s good, he decides. Though he has to wonder why it keeps happening, getting so cozy and cuddly together. It’s only the second time, but it makes his mind race with thoughts. Maybe he’s just fishing, but maybe there’s something going on past his own thoughts. He’s pretty sure it’s just being awake in the middle of the night getting to his brain, interrupted sleep and waking up to that arm snug around his waist. But after several moments, he can’t share the thought. He needs to try something, see for himself. Either he’s being stupid and can brush the whole thing under the rug with his emotions- or something could be there he can explore later. Either way, he wants to figure it out and has a plan.

Lazily, with forced and careful movements to try and appear asleep still, he rolls over to face Simmons, struggling to pretend he’s not awake. He drapes his arm lightly over the other, letting it fall as naturally as possible. Then, he waits. Just lies there, keeping his breathing steady and holding still besides the arm around his waist. 

Simmons seems to stiffen at first, his breath catching as he lies there. After a few moments, he feels Simmons scoot back, nestling in close as possible to him, pressed perfectly to his shape. He knows Simmons is awake by his reactions, feels his breathing increase and his body flush against his chest. 

Grif takes note of every little movement, every muscle twitch and ever shiver, every hike in Simmons’ breath. He starts wondering more, curious, thoughtful- his mind is buzzing physical at this point, a million ideas rushing by. Then they all stop suddenly-

Not for nothing, they only stopped because he feels Simmons’ hand move, slipping to lie over his hand, tangling their fingers together softly. Grif wonders about that, too. Getting hung up on it for a moment, letting it fill his mind like crazy with thoughts and ideas. Curiosities. 

Then the hand squeezes his lightly, the fingers tighten and Simmons presses back more into his chest with an almost content noise. 

“Simmons?” He finally screws up his nerves to speak, unable to help needing to know for sure the other was awake. 

There’s a long stretch of silence before he clears his throat, “Yea?”

“Are you awake?” Dumb question, but he asks it anyways. 

“Yea.” Said softer than before, barely above a whisper. 

“What’s going on?” He questions, biting his lip slightly but otherwise not moving.

“Just trying to sleep.” It’s said in a tone that sounds unsure.

“This fine?” He tenses his arm slightly and squeezes Simmons’ fingers softly, make sure it’s understandable what he’s asking. 

Another long silence before he feels the other’s head nod against the pillow.

His thoughts are confirmed, but he doesn’t know what to say or do after hearing it, after it’s put out there that him spooning Simmons is fine, he’s at a loss. 

Yet another silence falls over them, leaves them with just the sounds of their breathing as they lie there. Simmons squeezes his fingers back after a moment, holding onto his fingers, holding him in place. 

“I like you, Grif.” Simmons admits first, barely above a mumble. No doubt his face is red as hell, he could swear he could feel the heat radiating from him. 

“I… like you too, Simmons.” He finally finds his voice to reply, a low rumble he presses up against back of his head, muffled slightly by hair. 

“Good.” Simmons replies quickly, almost sounding relieved. 

“It is, right? Not… weird or anything. Just. Good.” He has to ask, his own doubts and fears bubbling up suddenly. 

“Very good and totally not weird.” Simmons agrees, pausing before adding, “Well… maybe a little weird. In a good way.”

A good way. A good weird. It’s new, so it’s weird, right? That’s it. New and, well, unknown. Different. 

He wonders if he should press for more, try to figure this out, understand whats up entirely with them. But instead, he lets things fall into a comfortable silence, just enjoys the closeness. Increases the closeness, pulls Simmons tighter against his chest, keeping their fingers laced together. They’ll figure it out in the clear light of morning, let their sleepy brains settled in with this comfort for now. The rest is a problem for Future Grif to deal with, right now he’s just going to enjoy this and go back to sleep. No shame with holding Simmons close this time, no excuse of being tired and doing it in their sleep. He’s cuddling Simmons, spooning with him, soaking up his warmth and burying his face in his hair. It’s weird. Different. But beyond enjoyable. 

Grif smiles as he starts to drift back to sleep, adoring the feel of Simmons against him more than he would ever admit before. More than he could ever admit before. His smile widens and he shuts his eyes, soaking it up and drifting back into a comfortable, content sleep.


	3. Morning

The next morning, Grif wakes to Simmons curled into his chest, nestled comfortably in his arms. He stares at the top of his head for a long moment, temporarily confused even if he’s content to just lie there regardless of the how or why it’s happening. 

Slowly, the night before comes back to him, his mind hazy with just waking up. He remembers after a few moments of blinking and deep breaths, feeling another shiver of goosebumps spread over his body and that too familiar flutter in his gut. 

Weird but good. Right.

He’s not sure how to go about anything now, he wants to get up and pee, find some food maybe, but he also doesn’t want to lose this contact or, well, moment. As weird as that is to call it. A moment. God, that’s so stupid. He’s being so stupid. 

The decision is made for him a second or so later when Simmons shifts and starts to wake. He seems to be likewise confused at first, though he smiles after a beat, clearly okay with this good-weird situation. 

“My arm’s asleep.” Is the first thing Grif says, it mostly just comes out without thought. He mentally kicks himself for it for how dumb that comment is, he should’ve said good morning or something...romantic? At least not assholeish. Too late now. 

“Surprising anything could sleep with how much you snore- you should look into that, it could be sleep apnea or something serious.” Simmons replies, but doesn’t move to alleviate the dead limb.

“My snoring wasn’t the problem, your constant squirming was. Guess it’s that stick in your ass wedging itself deeper.” He counters, but it’s said softly. Affectionately even. 

“We’re not getting in a fight over if my squirming or your snoring is worse, I will not start my day like that.” He huffs, finally sitting up and giving a stretch of his arms over his head. 

Well. Whatever rebuttal he had in mind is gone now, all thoughts now completely distracted by the torso and arms in front of him. Goddamn it. 

“I’m taking a shower before Donut gets in there and gets glitter everywhere.” Simmons says after stifling a yawn, pulling off the blankets and reaching around in the floor. 

“Yea, you do that. I’m getting food.” He rumbles out, rubbing his face and trying to get feeling back into his sleeping arm. 

Grif watches Simmons find his clothes and get dressed, staring silently until the other looks back at him.

“Uh, so… see you later?” Why’d he ask it like a question, good god he knows he’s going to see Simmons around- they’re in the same damn base! 

“Yeah, definitely.” Simmons agrees, doesn’t question how dumb of a question it was. Just gives a small smile and leaves. 

Well, okay. This morning is weird as hell, and he probably screwed it up with his lack of any goodmorning or anything, but. It’s over with now, whatever. Simmons didn’t seem upset by it, maybe that’s just their thing. Or Simmons regrets the whole night and was just quick to accept whatever he said to get out of the room. Shit. 

Grif swallows down the shitty feelings, finding his clothes and following the smell of Donut’s cooking. Food. That’ll fix this. Lots of food and no thinking. Now if he could just get his mind to agree to this plan…

“Gooood morning sleepyhead!” Donut greets him cheerfully, and thank god he has a plate of pancakes to make up for being so damn awake in the morning. 

“Just give me the food, Donut.” No hyper talking, no chittering away like a squirrel on speed, please, just food.

“Oh-ho, someone’s cranky today.” He does hand over the food quickly though, even if he’s still vibrating with an unholy amount of energy for any hour of the day.

“No shit. It happens when you try to fit two people on a small one person bed.” He grumbles, making sure every pancake is drowning in syrup and butter. “Seriously Donut, if you have to do your bullshit cleaning in the middle of the night? Simmons was in my bed all night, I couldn’t get any sleep!”

“I didn’t do any cleaning last night.” Donut blinks in confusion, cocking his head to the side. 

“Yeah right, Simmons came into my room and said you were cleaning his so he slept in mine.” Grif scoffs, stuffing his face with pancakes. 

“No really!” He insists, frowning a little, “I was on patrol with Sarge all night.”

He squints at Donut, trying to decide if he’s lying or telling the truth. Not that lying would benefit him any, wouldn’t make much sense really. But if Donut’s telling the truth, why did Simmons come into his room and pretend Donut was in his? What the hell did that mean?! 

Grif stares at his pancakes as Donut leaves him alone, messing with something else instead of bugging him. He kind of wishes Donut would pester him so he could be distracted, his mind is everywhere now and so damn confused. Why would Simmons lie about something so stupid? What point did that make? Jeez…


	4. Understanding

Grif spends the next few hours tormenting himself with possibilities. Maybe Simmons just wanted to see him…? Or it was some kind of test or trick! Or. God. He doesn’t know. It could be anything, right? Any number of reasons, and only one of them sounds positive. Fuck.

“There you are.” Simmons’ voice breaks through his thoughts, standing next to the warthog and looking up at him.

“Wasn’t hard to find.” He could easily be found hiding out in the vehicle, usually taking a nap and always hiding from Sarge.

“Should’ve figured you’d be here.” He admits with a faint laugh to his voice, leaning against the door and tilting his helmet. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He lets out, but it’s no doubt obvious his tone is cold and distant. 

“Nothing my ass, what’s going on, Grif?” Simmons presses, moving his hands to the rim of the door and leaning in a bit. 

“You tell me!” He says suddenly, frustrated, “First you come to my room saying Donut’s in yours, then Donut tells me he wasn’t there at all. So, what’s up?” He wants to ask if it’s all a game to him, if he’s fucking with his emotions or some shit. It doesn’t sound like a Simmons thing to do, but he’s frustrated and upset, nothings out of the question.

“Oh.” Is all Simmons says, his arms dropping to his sides and helmet tilting down to look at the ground. 

“Yea, oh. What’s going on- the truth this time, no games.” He grinds out, eyebrows pulled together in irritation. He’s glad for the helmet in place to hide his expression, the confusion and hurt.

“Okay.” Simmons breathes out, shoulders slouching more as he nods his head, “Donut wasn’t in my room, I lied.”

“Obviously, but why?” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifts in the seat.

Simmons says something too low and mumbled to hear, tapping his boot against the wheel.

“What?” He’s tempted to add he can’t hear Simmons talking with a dick in his mouth, but he’s too frustrated to tease or anything right now.

“I said-” Simmons says louder, sighing heavily again, “I just uh...I don’t know. Wanted to. Um. Just. Be near you or whatever, I don’t know!”

That takes all the hot air out of him, his hands dropping to his lap instead though his head lifts up with the realization. Of all the reasons, it was the one possible positive one. Fucking nice. 

“You could’ve asked.” He finally replies after a long moment of silent thinking, “Didn’t have to lie, asshole.”

“Yeah! Well! It’s… not that easy.” Simmons admits, but his droopy stance does perk up.

“It kind of is.” Grif says, though he knows it’s not. None of this is really easy, it’s all been so fucking weird and different and new- it’s all been a guessing game and it’s. Just weird. 

“No it isn’t! You could’ve said no, or laughed in my face, or told Donut so he’d tease the hell out of me for the next year!” His voice gets higher as he rattles on, hands going up a bit before falling to his sides again.

“I wouldn’t have said no.” He mumbles just loud enough to be heard before shrugging, “But Donut does know you were in my bed last night, so, he might be on you about that.”

“Please never use ‘Donut’ and ‘be on you’ in the same sentence again.” Simmons says in the most deadpanned voice ever, then gives a faint laugh as he walks around to hop in the passenger seat.

“That’s a mental image I didn’t need, thanks.” He grumbles but turns to face Simmons as he settles in. “And don’t lie next time you want to get in my bed, Christ! We’re not children.”

“Fine, I won’t lie. I’ll just...ask.” His voice is low as he finishes, but he nods in agreement.

They sit in silence for a long second, Grif studying his helmet and armor, trying to figure out his body language and what he’s thinking.

“So. We’re good?” Simmons eventually asks as he fidgets in his seat, turning to face Grif after a moment.

“Yeah Simmons, we’re good.” He nods once, smiling faintly behind his helmet and, again, thankful the visor hides his light blush. Yeah, they’re good, more than good even.


	5. Content

Simmons sleeping in his bed has become so normal Grif doesn’t know if he can even fall asleep anymore without him. Which sounds stupid as hell, even to himself. He can nap in any place at any time with any number of things going on, of course he can fall asleep in his own bed, right? With or without Simmons in it. 

Thankfully, for the last couple weeks he hasn’t had to find out. After the whole lie about Donut came out, Simmons has been in his bed every night. Sometimes they sleep in Simmons’ bed, but it’s usually his, limbs tangled together and blanket halfassed thrown over them. It’s comfortable, a lot less weird now, and something he’s not planning on changing anytime soon.

He wakes to the familiar and welcome warmth, feeling Simmons pressed against his chest and his arm wrapped around his tummy. It makes him smile every time, even if he does try to wrangle that in quickly. He’s not going to let on how giddy it all makes him, jeez. Simmons knows he’s happy, sure, that he’s enjoying the hell out of himself- but he doesn’t need to know about the flittering fluttering feelings caused by just being skin to skin with the man.

There’s no ‘good morning’ when they both wake, just light bantering about who moved too much or hogged the blanket during the night, picking playfully at each other over being too loud of a snorer or talking in their sleep. It’s just how it works with them. That’s how it’s always been, they’re on each others ass, this...thing they have going on together doesn’t change that. 

Until Simmons decides to up and change the game, eyes half lid and hand lifting to cup his face lightly. 

“Good morning.”

Grif stares, feels a weird tightness in his stomach, fumbles for something to say. 

“For you maybe.” He manages to croak out, but it’s all still said with a lopsided smile, “Hardly got any rest with you talking in your sleep.”

“I don’t do that, I already told you!” Simmons defends himself, thumb rubbing over stiff stubble lightly.

“Yeah dude, you do.” He insists, feeling his skin burn and tingle from the continued touch. 

Grif doesn’t know what to do with his own hands, one trapped under Simmons’ head still and the other resting across his torso. Does he return the touch? Does he just soak up the soft affection? Shit, he doesn’t know. He just stares and keeps his hands still for the moment, unsure what he should do with them, if anything. 

“Then record it next time, I don’t believe you.” He replies, inching his face closer across the pillow. 

A new wave of confusion and excitement floods through him, watching the other’s face get slowly closer until he can feel the breath on his face. What’s he doing? What’s his plan? What’s happening?!

As lips meet his, his frenzied thoughts all stop, everything goes still and silent. For some reason, even sleeping cuddled up together night after night, he hasn’t considered kissing Simmons to be a big deal. Sure, he’s figured it would happen, eventually, maybe. But he isn’t ready for the feel of lips on his, the soft noise Simmons makes, the way that hand on his cheek tenses slightly before relaxing again. He definitely isn’t ready for the way his heart seems to jump into his throat, the pounding so hard he can feel it in his skull, hear it beating rapidly in his ears. He has no idea what to do, he doesn’t even have time to close his eyes once he realizes what’s happening. 

Chills go down his spine and his mouth feels impossibly dry as he blinks at the smiling face. 

“You alright?” Simmons asks after a moment, touching his face still.

“Uh, yeah-” He breathes out, voice embarrassingly shaky. “Just surprised me.”

“I thought you said you enjoyed surprises.” He replies, expression looking a little concerned and unsure. 

“Usually when it involves food.” Grif manages to keep his tone teasing finally, shaking off those first jitters of emotion. 

“I’ll get Oreos next time then.” Simmons teases back, looking less tense. 

“Unless you’re hiding some under your pillow, you don’t have time.” Is all the warning he gives before he dips his head and returns the kiss, less unsure now that he’s had a second to process everything. 

Simmons laughs into the kiss, but likewise returns the kiss, keeping his hand in place still.

Grif finally moves his hand to copy Simmons’, resting it on the other’s face lightly and letting his fingers ghost along his cheekbone and down to his jaw as they kiss.

It’s all a little weird still from being so new and different, but Grif doesn’t care. It’s beyond a good weird, incredible and amazing. Breathtaking, even. Just right.


End file.
